


Faerlim

by babybaguette



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Birth, Kíliel if you squint, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 08:57:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybaguette/pseuds/babybaguette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one thing on the company’s mind was to get out of that forsaken Wood. However, it was on no one’s mind heavier than Kíli’s.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faerlim

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to everyone that helped me edit this! I never could have done it without them! (◕‿◕✿)

Mirkwood hadn’t been kind to any of them. It was a sick, nasty forest full of gross, detestable things, and not just the spiders. There were mangy squirrels the color of midnight, great centipedes that sounded like many claws as they crawled. The air was heavy with humidity and dismay. The party often felt choked or lightheaded and sleep was hard to come by; there were few places to settle down on the narrow path. When they had succeeded in finding a place to put their packs, there were the eyes-- great eyes, small eyes, yellow, red and green eyes, peeking out of the underbrush at them.

The one thing on everyone’s mind was to get out of that forest. However, it was on no one’s mind heavier than Kíli’s. In fact, the whole trip Kíli had been the one most anxious to get to the mountain, praying the hardest that the dragon was dead, for he had the most to worry about.

He carried the third in line to the throne of Erebor within his belly.

He’d found out the day they were leaving. It would have been in his best interest, of course, to stay back, but he could not let his uncle or his brother down. He could not let his race down; the mountain was theirs to claim. This had been infinitely more important. Hadn’t it?

But as the party fought off the spiders(or tried to), Kíli was having second thoughts. He thought of how safe and not life threatening it would be if he’d just hung back and let his brother and uncle do their quest. As they all heard the creak of elvish bows with arrows nocked in their direction, Kíli wished he’d had the sense to realize what dangers this adventure might hold. As the party was led away by the woodland bastards, Kíli just wanted sleep. Fighting, running, walking, and starving for days, weeks, and months on end had taken its toll on all of Thorin’s company, but none so much as the young prince. He was glad for the cold floor of the cell, if only it meant he wouldn’t have to stand any longer.

Their cells were all spread out along the great walls of the Elven palace. He was nowhere near his brother or the rest of the company, and no one even knew if Thorin was alive. His uncle had been taken to see the king. Anything could happen to him, so, in near isolation, Kíli wondered how he was going to go about raising a child in a cell.

They’d taken his weapons. His outer coats, his leathers and belts; he and the other twelve had been left in naught but their boots, trousers and tunics. The elf in charge of undressing him had given an odd stare as she pulled away layer after layer to reveal his swollen stomach, too firm and out of place to pass off as fat. She was the same elf that had saved him in the forest. She now approached his cell and looked down at him.

Kíli nervously twirled a rock between his fingers; his mother’s token. A prayer for safe passage for her kin. It seemed the fortune the rock deemed to bring was in vain-- Kíli doubted that his mother had this in mind when she wished them safe passage, locked up in an Elvish cell of all places, such a disgrace!

The she-elf gazed at the polished stone, but said nothing. Kíli glanced up at her but once and met her eye. He quickly looked away. The stare of an elf was too intense.

“You are curious about my condition,” he came to a conclusion. There was a pause as the elf pondered his words and finally took her seat on a nearby stair.

“I am,” she replied. “I would not think the king of Erebor would bring along his expectant kin to lay siege on the mountain.”

"So you do not wonder at the fact that I'm a male?" Kíli asked, puzzled. Dwarves, in their fashion, were quiet about their ways, and so it was often that someone didn't know that dwarf males could bear children.

The she-elf smiled and it was full of the warmth of honey. "It is known, amongst the elves at least, and those still close to lore, that the Smith crafted the dwarf men first and did not care much for women. These he made few of. The race grew to adapt." Her smile faded. "But what of Thorin Oakenshield?"

Kíli smiled sadly. “He does not know.” His fingers played at the hem of his tunic, pulled taught by the babe. “None of them know.” His head spun quickly round to look at her. “Please, you can’t tell them. You can’t tell anyone!” He held her gaze with wide eyes. Her face softened.

“It would not be my place to tell them. And the king no doubt would think it of little importance.” She looked down at her hands. “But one has to wonder… You are so close. What will you do when the time comes? When you are still behind these bars?”

Kíli smirked. “Who said I’d be behind these bars?”

The remark was returned with a sly smile. “These cells are some of the most secure in the realm. The guards are ever vigilant. I would wish you good luck, but that would be against my code as Captain of the Guard.”

“Well, this company has a few tricks up it’s sleeves,” Kíli teased. His fingers stopped twiddling at his clothes and now lay atop his belly. He was being familiar with an elf. Oh, how his uncle would have writhed to see it. Kíli chuckled at the thought.

But she had a point. He couldn’t give birth in here, alone. He couldn’t have his baby surrounded by elves, either. And he could tell it was soon; Kíli was beginning to feel the baby turn so that it’s head was pointed down, he could feel his pelvis shifting into position. His whole body was changing to prepare for birth and they weren’t even close to the mountain. It was a matter of mere days.

“Do not fret,” the she-elf soothed. Kíli had begun to worry his tunic between his fingers again. “Elvish medicine is of the highest regard in all the land. You will be safe.” She smiled. This comforted Kíli to a small degree and he brightened. The pair spent another hour yet talking of stars and moons and the ways of elves and dwarves, as unalike as they could be. Eventually, the captain of the Guard stood and bade him a goodnight, returning to her duties.

Kíli was left alone in the dark of his cell to ponder what she’d said. She was right, of course; there was no healer anywhere else on Middle Earth to surpass the greatness of Elvish healers. It was a cold medicine, though. Kíli would rather he be surrounded by the warmer, more familiar Dwarvish healers. Even then, he reminded himself, he couldn’t have his wish even then. They only had Óin; fortunately, the old dwarf had more than enough experience in midwifery.

Kíli had not long to sit and think but a few hours before their trusty Bilbo came rapping on his bars. He was breaking out the company! The others were already swarming around in the tunnels, waiting for the hobbit’s instruction.

“I knew you’d come through for us, laddie” exclaimed Balin, slapping Bilbo on the back. The hobbit grinned despite himself.

“Shh, sh, be quiet!” he called in a hoarse voice to the dwarves. “There are guards nearby.” Bilbo went to quick work on Kíli’s cell. The young dwarf pushed against the wall, struggling to get to a standing position. He realized with a jolt that with what he was currently wearing, it would be near impossible to hide his condition from the rest of the company. They’d find out. They’d all know.

Kíli slunk into the darkest corner of his cell until everyone had passed, following Bilbo, to creep back out and join the party.

They all took as careful steps as they could through the carven halls; often, Bilbo could be heard in the front cursing their “dwarvish racket.”

He led them down stairs, past other cells, through chambers, and eventually into a large cellar. Kíli looked around in confusion.

"You're supposed to be leading us out, not further in!" Bofur whispered angrily. The hobbit assured them that he knew what he was doing and ushered them into a back room where a stack of empty barrels lay. The company crept quietly around the table of drunken, sleeping guards. A few let out a chuckle to see such divine creatures in such a sloppy state.

"Everyone, climb into the barrels," Bilbo called out in a hoarse whisper. There was some discrepancy amongst their party as to whether they should listen to him and it was about to get loud when Thorin called out to listen to what their hobbit said. Not long after, there were thirteen heads poking out of thirteen barrels.

"Hold your breath," was the last thing they heard before Bilbo was shoving an enormous lever into position and the barrels went tumbling down below the floor. With a mighty splash, they were hitting the water. Barrels crashed into barrels as they all landed in a small river.

Kíli, who didn't brace himself for he did not know what was coming, was knocked around in his barrel and it was all he could do to protect his stomach from the brunt of the blows. His barrel landed upside down in the river, as did several others, causing him to sputter and flail for air until he was topside once more.

Thorin, from his own barrel, was acting as a dam; his arms braced him against the current, and no one could get past. He was looking up at the door from which they’d fallen. He was waiting. Sure enough, after a beat, their hobbit came tumbling out of the door and hit the water with a small splash. Nori helped Bilbo up and unto the side of his barrel.

“Well done, Master Baggins,” Thorin called over the din of the river. Bilbo simply waved in reply, and Thorin let go his hold on the boulders. They were free.

Or so they thought. From the cliffs above, a high-pitched horn could be heard. Assuming it meant the prisoners had escaped, the dwarves attempted to duck down low in their barrels lest they be seen, but as they rounded the corner, they saw guards atop a stone bridge, working to close a wrought iron gate that blocked any debris from going that way down the river.

“No!!” Thorin cried as he slammed into the bars. His company joined him, and soon there was a fleet of barrels all stuck under the bridge. Well, most were.

Kíli had a view of the top, where the guards were drawing their swords and nocking their arrows. The young dwarf looked on in despair as they advanced, and then as one was pierced by the crude arrow of an orc.

Before their eyes, the bluffs were swarming with orcs. The elves were taken off their guard and soon, many of them fell. The dwarves caught falling weapons and started putting them to use from their barrels.

Kíli looked around frantically for a weapon, and found something better. The lever with which to open the gate was unguarded. He pointed up fervently.

“The lever!” he cried. “The lever, somebody pull it!” His voice fell on occupied ears, however. His brother next to him was busy fending off an orc with naught but a dagger from a fallen elf’s body. On Kíli’s other side, Dwalin and Nori stabbed and hacked with whatever they could get their hands on, and sometimes fought with their bare hands. No one had heard him. He’d been the only one to see the lever.

Pushing with all his might against the rim of his barrel, Kíli hoisted himself up and out. He used his companion’s vessels as stepping stones and made his way to the bridge as efficiently as he could. He was the only person that could do this and at the same time, the only person that shouldn’t. Not only was he putting his life in danger, but his child’s. Yet, if they could get away from the elves and orcs, that would all change.

An orc jumped down from the rocks and snarled. Kíli quickly braced himself for a fight, but soon saw that the orc was armed to the teeth. He didn’t stand a chance with his fists.

“Kíli!” came the cry of Dwalin behind him. Whirling around just in time, Kíli caught the sword that had been tossed to him. It would have been nothing to twirl right back around and slay the orc, but Kíli was working around a large belly that slowed his movements and made him more cautious. However, an orc was an orc, and with a few well-times dodges and jabs, Kíli was quickly kicking its body into the river.

He fled up the stairs, only to be met by an orc with a spear. With a spear against a sword, Kíli knew this wouldn’t take long, but he heard a growling come up behind him. He was trapped between two of the monsters. Not for long, though; as Kíli dealt the death blow on the one in front, heard the ring of a well-tossed blade in the orc’s neck. His brother had saved him.

One more orc stood between him and the lever. He was so close that the excitement of it gave him strength to take down this one with efficiency that surprised even him. Kíli tossed aside the sword and reached out--

The young dwarf froze in his tracks.

There was a pain, a deep, intense cramp building in his lower back and seizing him by the middle. It was all he could do to grab the lever and try to force it down, but the cramp overtook him and he was down on the ground in seconds. Kíli grasped at his stomach with both hands and cried out in pain. He hadn’t been wounded-- he’d hardly been touched. Did this mean he was…?

If none of the dwarves had noticed his endeavor with the lever, they were all watching now. All that could, anyway; some were under the bridge, stuck there by the current, but they heard his screams. The company realized with a sudden horror that the youngest of their company was not only pregnant, but also feeling the first kiss of labor.

“Kíli!!” yelled Fíli. The blond dwarf struggled in his own barrel, desperate to get to his brother, to ask him if it was really true, that he’d been hiding this, that this was happening now, but the onslaught of orcs grew and the dwarves were almost overcome.

An orc towered over Kíli as the prince continued to writhe in agony. He could do nothing to defend himself as he watched the orc raise its weapon. This was it. He was going out in a blaze of pain and the stroke had not yet fell; the line of Durin was severed.

Kíli hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes. He opened them now, as a gurgling was heard from the orc-- an arrow had pierced its heart, and it tumbled forward; Kíli budged out of the way just in time. A quick glance to the opposite shore told him that the cavalry had arrived.

The Captain of the Guard strode forward through the orc pack, knives whirling. She, the elf prince, and several others were, for their own sake rather than the dwarves’, beginning to drive the orc pack away.

Kíli, still suffering from a great pain in his abdomen, saw an opportunity and began to climb to stone wall. He heaved his way up to the lever and pulled with all his might. It finally gave, and with a tormented grunt, he fell onto his back. He listened as his companions began to pass through the gate. They each gave a cry as they fell down the unanticipated waterfall, but their shouts could still be heard on the other side; it was safe.

The young dwarf peeked over the edge to see his brother and a few others holding on to the shore. An empty barrel was positioned under the bridge and, as carefully as he could, Kíli slid off of the bridge and back into the watery vessel.

The fall jarred his back, and he winced with discomfort. The brunt of the pain had passed, but Kíli was left winded-- he leaned heavily on the rim of his barrel and gasped for breath. His brother kept a firm grasp on both their barrels as they rushed down the falls and went tumbling after the rest of the company.

The orcs continued to pursue them, but the elves were relentless. Light on their feet as they were, the host of elves jumped through brush and ran across logs and slew their prey. The few dwarves that had kept a hold on their stolen weapons also fought, when the orcs were near enough. Bombur even took a trip on land and damaged his barrel; it was a stroke of luck that they had a few extras floating nearby, or else someone would have had to share with the rotund dwarf.

Fíli had been steering both he and his brother, but he’d needed both hands when Nori tossed a club back to him. The blond dwarf swung at the legs of as many orcs as he could reach, but in doing so, lost Kíli’s barrel. The younger brother was now left to fend for himself, which would have been easier had he not been fighting off a dull throb at the base of his stomach.

At one point, the elf prince used their heads as stepping stones. He was lighter than a feather, but it was undignifying nonetheless. Even carefree Kíli was a bit sour about it.

The company then witnessed a rare event-- as the blond elf was being assaulted, one orc posed to strike him from behind. Thorin saw this and struck down the orc with a well thrown axe. The prince, in return, slew an orc that was advancing on their barrels. The two opposing royals shared an odd look before the company went soaring down the river again.

The battle cries of Black Speech still rang from behind them, but slowly dwindled as the river picked up speed. Soon, no armies could be found on the dwarves’ trail, and no elves either. They were safe, for now.

After a bit, the torrent calmed to a slow meander and the party was crawling along in the water.

“Anything behind us?” Thorin called from the front. He paddled along with a tree branch.

“Not that I can see,” Balin replied.

“I think we’ve outrun the orcs,” Bofur cried cheerily.

“Not for long-- we’ve lost the current.” Thorin observed their surroundings the best he could.

“Bombur’s half-drowned!” someone called in back.

“Make for the shore!”

Kíli didn’t need to be told twice. He was already halfway there when Thorin gave the order, and Fíli was already up and out of his barrel, ready to help his brother. Kíli hit the rocky shore and planted his barrel sideways, making sure it wouldn’t float away. He then got to work using the last of his strength to heft his awkward body out of the vessel. Fíli grabbed an arm and helped him along. They both staggered naught but a few paces before Kíli collapsed to his knees. A moan escaped through his clenched teeth as his muscles shifted uncomfortably. His whole body was sore and waterlogged; being imprisoned, escaping via barrels, and going into labor were not things he’d ever think to accomplish all in one day.

Fíli sat by his brother, drinking in his appearance and wondering how he never knew. Kíli’s wet shirt clung to his body and made it painfully obvious that he was with child. He’d always been thin, and the contrast now between his sinewy body and the large mound protruding from his midsection was stark. Bofur came and knelt in front of him with a worried look on his face. Soon, the attention of practically the whole company was on Kíli. No one said a word, however, or went too near him.

“On your feet,” Thorin ordered, striding towards the other end of the shore to get a lookout. Kíli then remembered that his uncle had been under the bridge when the rest of the company discovered, and hadn’t gotten a good look at him since.

“Uncle,” Fíli called in a somber tone. He needn’t say anymore. Thorin turned around and saw his companions all either facing him or facing his nephews, who were huddled on the ground. He’d heard his youngest nephew’s cries at the bridge. Had Kíli been wounded? Why did Fíli use such a tone?

Thorin pushed to the front of the scene, where even the hobbit stood, gazing down at the youngest with a perplexed expression. Kíli was…

A hundred thoughts passed through the King Under the Mountain’s mind at that moment. Among those was that his nephew wasn’t wounded, and that was good. Another was that he had another heir: the third in line to the throne of Erebor. But the most prominent in his mind was--

“How dare you--?!” Thorin began to rush at his youngest sister-son, only to be held back by several members of the party. “How dare you come on this journey?! How dare you put your life in danger? Not only yours, but your child’s? You are a fool! You should have stayed in the Blue Mountains. You should have let your brother come alone, you should…”

Thorin didn’t realize he’d trailed off until there was a heavy silence in the air, broken only by the slow rush of the river and the labored breathing of their youngest member. Thorin was tired. He hadn’t slept in the dungeons of Mirkwood, and the last he’d had a good meal was at Beorn’s hall. He thought about how miserable he was. And then he thought about Kíli, and how miserable he must be, going through the same things as everyone else, all the while carrying a child. His nephew was stronger than he gave him credit for.

But he was still a fool.

“We cannot leave you here,” Thorin mumbled, “and we cannot turn you back to the elves.” He locked eyes with Kíli. “But you cannot come with us to the mountain.”

Kíli’s eyes widened at this. “Uncle, no--!” he started to get up, but his legs were weak under him and he ended up falling forward on his palms.

Fíli jolted into action, ready to catch his younger brother so he didn’t hurt himself or the baby. There was an obligation that Fíli felt, as an older brother, to protect his sibling. However, now there was also the obligation of an uncle, like how Thorin was to them. Suddenly every overprotective action he’d had with his nephews made sense

“Uncle, I’m going to be there when that door is opened!” the younger brother cried. He looked around wildly at the surrounding company for support, but all he was met with were stares of concern or worry. Both Fíli and Bofur had their hands out at the ready, as if he were going to fall to pieces any moment. Kíli swatted them away. He’d survived this long without their help.

“There is no arguing this, Kíli,” Thorin warned in a low voice. “My decision is final.”

Balin approached his friend and king. “Thorin, there are orcs still on our tail. If we are to do something with him, it needs to be decided now.”

Kíli looked up helplessly at his friends. His hands rested uselessly beside his belly. He might as well have stayed at home if it was his fate not to see those halls that Thorin spoke so fondly of.

As fate would have it, Thorin’s decision was made for him. The creak of a bowstring being pulled taught caught the dwarves’ attention. Thinking it was the orcs finally caught to them, they each tried to arm themselves with whatever was at the ready. An arrow pierced the tree log that Dwalin tried to wield, and a rock was shot clear out of Kíli’s hand.

“Try it again,” the tall shadow with the longbow warned, “and you’re dead.”

The company made a protective circle around Kíli. Thorin was steaming with disappointment and rage and fatigue and he wanted no better than to kill something. This creature was threatening his family. He was dead.

Balin’s gentle hand found its way to the king’s shoulder. The old dwarf stepped forward, hands raised.

“Ah, excuse me, but you’re from Laketown, if I’m not mistaken?” Balin was met with an arrow pointed in his direction. The dwarf raised his hands higher to show he meant no harm. “That barge over there… It wouldn’t be available for hire, by any chance?”

They could all see now that the silhouette was nothing but a tall man in a trenchcoat. He had a grim face and worn-out boots.Upon listening to his accent, there was nowhere he could’ve come from other than Esgaroth, Laketown as the dwarves called it. The man lowered his bow and considered the dwarves for a moment.

Seeming to make up his mind, he turned silently and strode over the shore. Balin pursued, and the rest of the company followed. Fíli helped Kíli up and kept an arm on his back, which Kíli admitted silently he was grateful for.

“Because we seem to be in a wee of a tight spot,” Balin continued.

“What makes you think I would help you?” the bargeman inquired. He started taking the barrels from wherever the dwarves had docked them and rolling them onto his small boat.

“Those boots have seen better days. As has that coat. And no doubt you have some hungry mouths to feed.” As Balin was getting friendly with the strange man, Fíli got his younger brother to take a seat on a nearby ledge.

Kíli wanted nothing more than to tell his brother that he was sorry, but somehow he couldn’t meet his eyes. Fíli, on the other hand, was just staring. His brother, who he’d grown up with and been raised with and played with and fought with and trained with, and he couldn’t tell he’d changed. He wanted to blame it all on this damn quest; no one was really themselves anymore. Thorin’s persistence and their willingness to follow were the only things that had kept them going. But the physical change! Fíli cursed himself for not even noticing that! True, there hadn’t really been the chance to get a good look at his brother, but even layers of leather and armor could not hide this. Fíli shook his head both at his own misgivings and Kíli’s obstinance.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” was all Fíli could muster out of the many thoughts swirling through his mind.

Kíli closed his eyes tight and opened them. Maybe if he did this enough times, he would wake up and this would all be a dream and he would wake up in Ered Luin with his mother. Yet they were still by the shore, still soaking wet, and Kíli was still heavily pregnant. He raised his head, mouth open to say some excuse, but he stopped short at the sight of his brother. There were tears in Fíli’s eyes. Tears of frustration and sadness and confusion. Whatever Kíli was going to say got choked in his throat and he could do nothing but look back down at his feet. Or, what little he could still see of his feet.

Balin came rushing back to the group. “Boys,” he said, “we’ve got ourselves a smuggler.” He grinned and clapped his hands together. It seems they were going to Laketown.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They all clambered onto the boat amongst the barrels. Kíli stole a look at the bargeman only to see him staring right back. The man’s eyes flicked up and down the dwarf’s body, an odd, curious look on his face. Kíli forgot that dwarves were the only race where their males could have children, and it might come as a shock to anyone who wasn’t in the know, or, as the wise Captain of the Elven Guard had said, not close to the lore.

As they pressed on down the river, it became colder. The river widened until they couldn’t see either shore. A light snow fell and the water soon became thick with ice. The bargeman carried on into a thick cloud of fog, steering the boat as if he were simply walking their path.

Kíli felt the pangs of another cramp beginning to build. He meant to hide it from his brother, but Fíli was being watchful and caught on as soon as he saw his brother tense up.

“Kíli,” he exclaimed, “Kíli!” Fíli reached out, but was unsure where to touch. He ended up grabbing his brother’s arm and shoulder and holding on tight. The rest of the company either gathered closer or got further away. Thorin immediately rushed to his nephew’s side.

“Oh,” Bilbo simply said, watching the young dwarf. “Oh, my.”

Kíli bowed his head in agony and grit his teeth. His breathing quickened against his will and he was hissing and grunting in torment. He reached out for something to grab onto and was met with his uncle’s hand. As the pain climaxed, Kíli finally cried out and squeezed his uncle’s hand into an oblivion.

“Let me through to him,” Óin commanded, pushing his way through the throng. The healer knelt beside the laboring dwarf and began to inspect him properly. He lifted Kíli’s shirt and began poking his fingers around the lower edge of his swollen belly. Kíli hissed at the cold and at being touched so invasively, but was too preoccupied by the cramp to do much.

After what felt like forever, that had probably only been a few minutes, the pain died away into a dull throb and the vice-like grip on his stomach ceased. Kíli let his uncle’s hand go; Thorin spent the next few minutes trying to shake the feeling back into it.

“Just as I thought.” Óin stood up. “The lad’s having contractions. It’s time for the baby to be born.”

Kíli looked up at the old dwarf, but somehow he wasn’t surprised. All the excitement with the barrels must had triggered it. Then again, there were multiple things that could have; there was no end to the dangers Kíli had gotten himself into over the last few weeks.

A quick look around saw the company was in a panic. Balin had stopped counting money to pay the bargeman(“Bard, his name is Bard,” Bilbo had grumbled), Thorin was angrily pacing the length of the ship, Bilbo had sat down in shock, and even their smuggler was lending a close ear to the ruckus. Fíli looked about ready to pass out at the news.

“Oh, calm yourselves,” Óin shouted over the hysteria, “it’s not bein’ born this minute. It’ll be hours more.” That seemed to calm most of the dwarves, but Kíli reeled at this.

“Hours?” he cried. “I have to do this for hours?”

“I’m afraid so, lad. And it’ll only get worse from here.”

Kíli groaned out of sheer annoyance and the fact that his back was still aching. How could it possibly get worse?

For the rest of the boat ride, Kíli sat in silence. For their entering Laketown, Kíli was silent. He didn’t much like the fish bit, and clambering up through a toilet was unpleasant for the most part(especially when it took a dwarf to push and a dwarf to pull to get him through), but still no words fell from his lips. He was thinking. Mostly about the impending labor, but also after that.

Kíli hadn’t told anyone about the parentage of the child. He was hardly able to accept it himself-- just thinking about it made him sick to his stomach. But he had been taught that all life was sacred. The child inside him was innocent, and had no reason to bear the burden of its father’s crimes against its mother.

Bard’s children were loyal and kindhearted. They helped the dwarves in any way they could; bringing them dry clothes, food, and hot drink. They kept the fire roaring and Bain, the boy, did his best to scout out for goons of “the Master.” But one way in which they could not help was with Kíli. They’d taken turns stealing glances at the young dwarf all day, unsure of what to make of his predicament.

Once they were all cozied up, it was time to begin making plans on how to get to the mountain. Thorin gathered his nephews and Balin into a huddle. Bard had gone out to fetch the weapons, but they spoke in hushed voices nevertheless.

“Tomorrow begins the last days of Autumn,” Thorin started.

“Durin’s Day falls the morn after next,” Balin added, “we must reach the mountain before then.

“And if we do not?” Kíli asked.

“You will not be going anywhere,” his uncle reminded him sternly.

Kíli sighed, frustrated. “If YOU fail to find the hidden door before that time?”

“Then this quest has been for nothing,” his older brother answered gravely. Thorin looked down as if thinking hard, but looked up again as the bargeman reentered; a long roll slung over his shoulder. He dropped this on the table and the company gathered around.

They were met with mere playthings. Even Kíli, who was more adept with a bow than some of the more finely hewn dwarvish weapons, recognized unusable when he saw it.

“You will find no finer than these outside the city armoury,” Bard shouted above the din of arguing dwarves that had formed. “All iron-forged weapons are kept there under lock and key.”

Thorin met up with Balin and Dwalin for counsel as Bard rewrapped the “weapons.” Kíli kept the crowbell at hand for support. He was tired and sore and hungry. The cup of hot tea was welcome, but not enough. He needed proper food(the bargeman’s home kept little more than spices and walnuts), water, sleep. Above all else, he needed medical attention.

When he looked up again, the company was all slumping around the house, drying their clothes or sipping at warm drinks to calm their shivering. Bard had sauntered out onto the porch and could be seen through the window leaning against the rail.

The young dwarf longed for the company of the she-elf in the Wood. He yearned to hear her talk once more of starlight. be Kíli knew, even if he had the chance, Thorin would forbid him from ever entering that wood again. She was to live on only as memory.

Kíli hadn’t noticed the quickening of his breath or his elevated heartbeat until the pain of another contraction came upon him.

“Gah--!” he cried out, bending his body and leaning against the crowbell. As it was on the boat, some of the party rushed to him while others kept their distance. Fíli was the first to his brother’s side, holding his hand and brushing the hair out of his face, whispering little calming things.

Bain saw the young dwarf hunched over his belly, crying out against the ache of labor, and near panicked-- but the boy did not, instead running to the door and calling out for his Da. He was met with a swift reply and Bard was off running in search of another pursuit; the children were left with the company of fourteen, soon to be fifteen.

Luckily, the cramp was short, possibly due to the calm, and little needed to be done. Kíli leaned back against the windowsill and caught his breath.

“Is he…?” Sigrid, the oldest, stepped forward, her hands clasped at her waist in concern. “I mean to say… How?”

Thorin turned to face her, his features surprisingly soft. “Dwarf women are a rarity amongst our people,” he explained. “Therefor, some of the men must undertake the hard work of childbearing, as well.” The girl nodded, keeping her gaze fixed on Kíli’s midsection.

The group went back to planning after that, and soon it was known that there was to be a raid on the armoury that night. After that, the dwarves would head straight to the mountain and find the hidden door.

Thorin approached Kíli after a long discussion with Fíli and Balin. The older brother looked on in frustration and Balin met the young dwarf’s gaze with pity.

“You must stay here,” the King ordered, folding his arms across his chest. Kíli clenched his jaw bitterly.

“I know,” he seethed. He’d come to terms, after some thinking, with his situation. He could not continue to risk his life and his child’s out of sheer dwarvish stubbornness. Even if it meant he had to watch his brother and uncle go on without him, Kíli agreed to stay at the bargeman’s home, if he would have him.

Thorin led the company away as night began to fall. Kíli was soon the only dwarf left in the home with the three children, and they regarded him like anyone would a dangerous animal. Bard returned briefly, only to question Bain about the dwarves, and then went running back out again, not sparing a glance for Kíli, who could’ve answered his every question. Pregnant and useless, he thought to himself as he tried in vain to make himself more comfortable on the window seat. There was no where he could be comfortable nowadays.

He had one contraction in the company’s absence, and that frightened the children greatly, although they tried their best not to show it. Kíli groaned and writhed while they continued with their chores. Tilda, however, dared approach him with a wet towel. Kíli had fallen to his side and was unwilling to get back up; she reached out tentatively and pressed the wet cloth to his forehead. It felt cool against his hot skin and he leaned into it, moaning softly.

“Thank you,” he said. He gave her a smile and that seemed to win her heart instantly; It had been said in Ered Luin that Kíli had the brightest smile on a dwarf many of them had ever seen.

It was hours before Kíli heard anything of his companions, and it was from the bitter mouth of Bard. The man came trudging back home in the dead of night, after the children had gone to bed. Kíli stayed awake and to keep a candle lit, although he doubted he’d be able to sleep if he tried.

“What of Thorin?” Kíli asked. Bard jumped at the sound of a dwarf’s voice and took a defensive position until he saw it was only the youngest of the company. Kíli had moved from the window seat to one of the wooden chairs at the table. It was too big, but provided better support than the windowsill.

The man sighed. “They have won the favor of the Master. They are being treated like kings in the Master’s own halls, drinking their way into a coma. They lay siege on the mountain at dawn.” He looked Kíli over, scrutinizing him. His black eyebrows knitted together. “They were smart to leave you. Battle is no place for the expecting.”

“Tell that to the trail of dead orcs in our journey’s wake,” replied Kíli tartly. He was a fighter, baby or no baby, and to be left behind was almost as agonizing as the contractions he felt.

“I do not doubt your skill in battle. But you were not in labor then, were you?” Bard began to shed his coat and boots. He sat heavily in a chair across from Kíli. These were the actions of a man who did this on a regular basis; letting his guard drop only when his children were not there to watch.

“You can use my bed tonight,” the bargeman went on. “I’ll roll out a cot.” Kíli didn’t want to deny this tired man his own warm bed, but he knew he was in no condition to refuse. So it was that Kíli spent the night in a man’s bed, not for the first time. He woke periodically to muffle his cries of pain in a pillow. In his few hours of sleep, he glimpsed red hair and green leathers darting through trees and over cliffs.

Bard roused him at dawn to see the company off. The man himself did not go; he was glad to have seen the last of that company in his home.

Although Kíli didn’t know which way to go, he soon found his way by following the trail of songs and cheers. The people of Laketown had certainly warmed up to the dwarves, and the young one himself got a few claps on the back. He pressed his way to the edge of the crowd, where Thorin and the rest were boarding a wide boat. He was immediately spotted and cheered for his presence. Kíli grinned; perhaps they were letting him come along after all.

Kíli approached the boat, but to his dismay, all he heard was “wish us luck, lad,” or “we’ll see you when we’ve won the mountain.” His heart dropped along with his spirits. The company was all decked out in armor far too big for their size, brandishing weapons twice as tall as they were. Packs of food, blankets, water, and various sundries lay in the heavy laden boat.

Thorin now saw his nephew and approached him. “You need to be resting,” he stated.

“I had to see my my brother and uncle off to war, now didn’t I?” Kíli retorted. Thorin’s face formed what could only be called a sad smile as he reached out and grasped his youngest nephew behind the neck.

“I look forward to the day when we come back for you,” he vowed, “to show you and your child the wonders of Erebor.” He lay a hand on the hilt of his sword. “But first we must rid ourselves of that dragon.” His tone became somber for a flash, then he brightened as best he could and he gave Kíli one last parting smile. They were finally doing it; the dwarves were going to reclaim the Lonely Mountain.

Well, most of them. Kíli sat heavily on a crate and watched as the last of the supplies were hoisted onto the boat. His brother could be seen looking back at him, countless emotions running through his face all at once.

Fíli wanted with all his heart to see that mountain, to gaze at its mighty halls and scour every trove. To slay the beast that had taken his homeland and to witness when Thorin took the throne. But his brother was here. His brother and his nephew. Every relation was sacred with dwarves; but Fíli remembered the fondness and fire with which his uncle spoke of their home. The way he’d asked him and his brother to join in his quest-- the faith he had in them.

But then Fíli thought about how Kíli was willing to sacrifice anything, even the safety of his unborn child, to go through with this. He felt it was only fair he showed the same commitment.

Fíli jumped out of the boat to go join his brother, only to be stopped by a firm hand on his breast.

“Fíli, don’t be a fool,” Thorin warned under his breath. “You belong with the company.” Fíli’s skills with knives in hand were paralleled by close to none; but there were more important things.

“I belong with my brother,” the blond dwarf resolved. He went to stand by Kíli, who was shocked and relieved by this development.

Óin, seeing the brothers, mulled it over in his mind. After a beat, he, too, decided to stay behind. As he joined the two youngest dwarves, he looked back and saw his brother staring up at him.

“We’ll be needing your staff, brother,” Glóin growled beneath his beard.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to do without me,” the old dwarf replied, clapping a hand down on Kíli’s shoulder. “I may be the only one in this forsaken town who knows how to properly take care of a dwarf.” And he was right. The knowledge of dwarvish medicine had long passed out of the men of Laketown’s memory.

Thorin had now lost two of his best to Kíli’s plight. He was down four dwarves; Bofur hadn’t been seen since the previous night and they were too short on time to go and look for him.

The boat shoved off, leaving Thorin’s nephews, his healer, and their toymaker behind. They waved in wide arcs and bowed low so their beards nearly drank from the chanel as the people of Laketown cheered them on their way. Kíli watched them go and anguished that not only was he left out, but three more had given up this chance to help him. All because he couldn’t stay in Ered Luin where he belonged.

They began to hear a familiar voice behind them, calling across the din to wait. Bofur pushed his way to the front, cursing his bad luck and drinking habits. Why hadn’t anyone come to wake him? He supposed that was bound to happen when you literally drank your way under a table.

Finally, Bofur reached the front of the dock, where people were waving and cheering at the boat that was now too far gone to catch up. He was sure he could hop aboard another boat and catch up, but he’d just woken up and was still a bit tired and very hungover and paddling a boat as fast as he could wasn’t high on his list. He looked up at the people around him and sighed. They’d just have to besiege the mountain without him.

As he turned around to go back to the Master’s hall(assuming the Master would let him stay), he saw Óin, Fíli and Kíli watching the boat disappear into a tiny black dot on the lake.

“Did you miss the boat as well?” he asked sadly. As he asked, he saw Kíli leaning forward into a contraction.

“Kíli-- Kíli!” his older brother pressed against his shoulder to keep him upright.

“Let’s get you back, laddie,” Óin insisted, throwing the young dwarf’s arm over his shoulder, Fíli following suit. Kíli was up off the crate, but before they could get moving, he stopped short with a gasp. Looking down, he saw his trousers growing dark with fluid.

“Oh, no,” he groaned.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Kíli screamed. His cries could be heard halfway across Esgaroth. He'd never in his life felt an agony so intense. The damp air made his shirt cling to his hot skin and his hair hang in a messy mop. Sweat dripped from his long nose as he leaned forward, into the pain. His burgeoning stomach clenched so that he felt as if he were being gripped by a mighty hand and he could do nothing but scream.

It was getting past dark. The company had abandoned Kíli, his brother, and Óin and Bofur hours ago to seek the hidden door. With the light gone, one could only hope they'd found it.

“Aaahaaagh!” Another raw cry ripped out of Kíli's chest and tore his throat open. His chest heaved with the effort of bringing a new life into the world; an effort which he'd been working at the whole day. It felt unlikely that it had only been two days since he was resting in the cells of Mirkwood, sharing stories with the fair Tauriel-- as he'd heard the elf prince call her. She was now far, far away, in her woodland kingdom under the stars.

Bard's children worked in the kitchen, keeping plenty of hot water and clean towels at the ready. Their father hadn't returned and the quaking from the mountain had only increased. They were loyal children, and very brave to stay at their home when there was a screaming dwarf and a dragon not a few miles away.

Kíli glanced over at his brother. Fíli was grasping his younger brother's hand and the dirty fingers in his own. All their lives, he'd taken care of Kíli; patched his wounds, cured his colds, fixed his toys. Now there was nothing he could do for him except watch and wait.

Kíli hadn't heard the footsteps on the roof over his own cries, but he sure saw the orcs when they came bursting through the door and windows and crashing holes through the ceiling.

The children let out a scream and started to throw things at the invader: plates, cups, and chairs all went flying through the air, but did nothing to stop the orcs' attack. They were after something, and it seemed as soon as they spotted the dwarves, they'd found it.

Óin, Fíli, and Bofur fought off the ten or so orcs that had poured in with the weapons Laketown had given them. The swords were too long and threw off their balance, but they made good use out of the knives; especially Fíli. But the orcs were too forceful, and the dwarves were being driven back. One orc burst through the ceiling almost on top of Kíli. The young dwarf froze as he realized he had nothing to defend himself with. The orc, realizing this as well, seemed to grin and advance, grasping for his leg to drag him. But before it could fell any stroke, a ringing knife pierced its throat. Kíli spun around and saw them-- the elves had come to their aid. She had come; Tauriel, who walked on starlight. Her blades sang and the elven prince's bow made every shot.

Kíli struggled out of the dead orc's grasp and in doing so, fell off the bed. From below, he saw a dagger one of the orcs must have dropped and grasped it. He knew, as another contraction seized him, that he was not battle ready. But then, neither were these children.

The battle was now at his feet, and Tauriel was fighting off three orcs with two knives. She slew one and held off another as she worked at the third. Kíli saw his chance and pushed himself to stand; not the easiest when you're to term and feeling contractions, but with the she-elf in peril he somehow found the strength. His dagger made its mark between the monster's ribs. It fell, and not without taking Kíli with it; the laboring dwarf now lay in the middle of the floor, his vision hazy in the pain of the cramps, his legs drawn to his body, screaming for there was nothing else he could do. Through his haze he saw Tauriel above him, her knives at a standstill as she looked down upon the dwarf.

“ _Mellon nîn…_ ” he heard her murmur before another beast caught her attention.

Fíli could be heard ushering the children under the table as the elf prince loosed arrow after arrow. The dwarf looked frantically around for his brother, and seeing the bed empty assumed the worst. Making sure Bard's family was safe, Fíli grabbed the nearest weapon and charged the herd of orcs. He had to get to his brother. His brother and the baby. He needed to get to them, to make sure they were safe.

There was a cry outside in the orcs' crude language, and at once all the monsters were leaving, the elves hot on their tail. The prince rushed out with his bow, but the captain of the Guard stayed behind after her last kill. Fíli then saw his brother on the floor with Óin and the she-elf stooped by him. Bofur was busy helping the children clean up their ravaged home.

Kíli's every breath came out as a whimper and he was losing consciousness. His labor had been going on for far too long; something was wrong. Unwilling to move him, Óin quickly removed his gloves and reached in Kíli's trousers(which they'd opted to keep on until he'd felt the urge to push) to feel between his legs.

“The child will not come,” he reported. “And we will lose the both of them if something is not done, fast.”

Fíli’s heart sank to his boots. No, he could not lose his brother-- they were so close to regaining their ancestor’s homeland. And the child… the child could not be lost. Dwarvish children were so rare, and there were so few that could bear. Women in and of themselves were few and far between, and the males that could gestate were even more so. And Kíli was far too precious. Fíli did not doubt that he’d not be able to go on without his younger brother. Thorin would be devastated that he hadn’t forced his nephew to stay in Ered Luin.

“Tauriel,” came a call from outside. The elf prince was calling the she-elf back into the fray, but as she was turning, Kíli let out a long groan to remind her of why she came in the first place. This dwarf, who had shown her kindness and compassion even in his imprisonment, who was willing to sacrifice everything to save his homeland, who was in desperate need. His health was failing him and the child would die. But Tauriel knew she was no healer, much less a midwife. And the orcs would terrorize the rest of the town or other lands if they were not stopped.

Tauriel made up her mind that her duty was as a warrior, much as it pained her heart. She gathered her daggers and made to follow Legolas. As she crossed the threshold, Kíli’s cries became loud anew and it took all her strength not to turn back.

Her prince was waiting for her, poised to jump off the balcony and pursue the enemy. She, too, readied herself, but paused. She’d glanced over at one of the houses where a window basket sat, full of foliage. In the dark, it was hard to make out, but her elf eyes saw a leafy plantain with tall stalks of white flowers.

“ _Faerlim_ ,” she whispered.

Tauriel abandoned Legolas on the railing and made her way across the canal to snatch the plant from the small garden. After many a gruesome battle, she would spend days in the healer’s and often pregnant elves would pass through. The healer often gave mothers with stubborn babes the juice of a faerlim leaf. It was not knowledge that would’ve been useful until this moment, and Tauriel was glad she’d observed it.

Gathering as much as she could in her hands, she made her agile way back to the house where the young dwarf could still be heard.

“A bowl with warm water. Now,” she ordered upon reentering. One of the girls went immediately to fetch it. The four dwarves watched as Tauriel washed the herb in the water, mashing it into a pulp with her palms.

“And what do you think yer doing?” Óin exclaimed, rising from his spot next to Kíli. Fíli kept a firm hold on his brother’s hand, who’s grip was slackening with each contraction. Kíli was growing weary and pale, and it was all Fíli could do to keep his brother’s eyes open.

“An herb used in difficult births,” the she-elf explained as she worked. “To give energy back to the mother and to hasten the birth.” She glanced down at Kíli and locked her fearful eyes on his cloudy ones. “This will make the pain worse,” she warned, “but it will be done sooner.”

Óin considered this as he watched her work the plant down to a usable texture. He’d seen such a plant before, growing near the edge of the mountain. It had another name in Dale and in Erebor, but he could not recall it. He would have to trust the she-elf to save the prince.

“Let’s get him up, lads,” the healer called to Fíli and Bofur. Óin grabbed the the young dwarf’s legs and the other two had an arm each. They three hefted a screaming and thrashing Kíli onto the righted table.

“Position yourself behind him,” Tauriel pointed at Fíli. “Hold him back.” Fíli, almost reluctant to follow an elf’s orders but burning to help his brother, jumped up on the table and leaned his brother’s back against his front. He looped his arms around his brother’s and held him up. He felt Kíli tense up every time a contraction passed, which seemed to be every half minute now.

Óin grabbed a sheet off of the bed and draped it over Kíli’s knees and then went to work on his trousers. It took some coaxing, but he was finally able to wriggle the young dwarf out of them. They were sopping with blood and birthing fluids.

Tauriel cupped the herb in her hand and approached Kíli. She looked into his face and saw fatigue and pain. He did his best to return her glance, but the pain would not stop and his eyes would to stay open. His sweat was cold on his forehead and neck.

Holding the herb above her head, Tauriel chanted:

“ _An innas en emel_

 _Ed tegi sen gwinig._ ”

Then, without warning, the she-elf pinched Kíli’s nose and tilted his head back. With his mouth open, she squeezed the juice of the herb down his throat. It was foul in taste and smell and it made Kíli want to vomit, but he had no choice but to swallow.

The effect was instant. Immediately, the young dwarf felt his heart beat harder and his breath return to him. His eyes were open and the haze was gone. However, the cramps were more intense and came to him faster. One after another, they slammed into his body and Kíli’s screams were louder than ever.

Óin stood at the end of the table with his hands on the young dwarf’s knees, while Tauriel was at his side. She continued her ritualistic chanting.

Her voice was the only thing Kíli heard. He was deaf even to his own cries. Though he could not understand what she was saying, it encouraged him.

Not a full minute after the poultice was squeezed into his mouth, Kíli felt the urge to bear down. There was so much pressure-- he wanted this done and he knew this was the only way, though he felt he might die at any moment.

“Ng-gaAAAAAAHH!!” he cried, throwing his head back onto his older brother’s shoulder. His body pressed forward, but Fíli held him back in an iron grip. Kíli felt around for something to grab and his fingers found his brother’s tunic; it would have to do. His fingers, dirty with the soils of Arda, clenched the fabric to the point of almost ripping it.

“Push, laddie!” Óin urged from his position. He sounded far away in the din of Kíli’s cries and Tauriel’s chanting. He was confused for a moment about what exactly he needed to push on, but it seemed his body knew. Kíli held his breath and clenched his abdominal muscles. His eyes were squeezed shut and he didn’t dare breathe until he was through pushing.

There was hardly a reprieve for Kíli to catch his breath before the next contraction started. These weren’t the same cramps from before; these were brutal and productive and they wracked his body until he was blind with pain. The pressure between his hips was incomparable to anything he had ever felt and anything he was sure he’d ever feel. His back was in knots and his thighs were sore and he just wanted this done with. But for that to happen, he knew he’d have work.

Tauriel’s chanting kept him grounded and focused as he felt the next cramp. He hadn’t had time to take a large enough breath to hold it, so Kíli found himself gasping and screaming his way through pushing. From the look on Óin’s face, he was doing well.

“I can feel it,” Kíli said in a hoarse voice. “Oh, Aulë, I can feel it!” The head of his child was currently lodged in his pelvis, so close to being born. It was a frightening sensation and with a jolt Kíli realized he wasn’t ready.

“I can’t do this,” he cried, his panting becoming sobs in his throat. “I’m not ready, I can’t do this!”

“Yes you can!” his brother exclaimed behind him. “Yes, you can!” Fíli’s grip tightened on his younger brother’s arms. “You’ve done so much, Kíli. You’ve slain orcs, and you saved Bilbo from those trolls, and you helped escape from Goblin-town! You can’t give up, Kíli, not after all you’ve survived! Not when you’re so close!”

His words gave Kíli strength, and as the next contraction passed, He threw his head back and pushed, willing the baby out with every fiber of his being.

“There it is!” Óin called. “I can see the babe, lad; it’s a big one!”

“You think I don’t know that?!” Kíli cried breathlessly. Just a few more, he thought, just a few more pushes and it would be out. Tauriel was beginning to look worried, though. Even in her spellwork, her gaze flitted from the healer to Kíli. Perhaps she knew something the others did not. Perhaps she guessed the parentage of the child.

“One good push and we’ll have the head, then,” the old dwarf instructed. Kíli nodded, mostly to himself, and closed his eyes. He had slain goblins and orcs, he had helped defend the company, and he was a prince of Erebor. Kíli was a warrior; he wouldn’t lose to this.

He was done trying to hold back his cries as he pushed. He was sure everyone in the whole town now knew there was a dwarf in labor, but he didn’t care. It took all his brother’s strength to hold him down now as he thrashed about on the table. Just a few more, and this would be over, just a few more, just a few more…

Kíli was suddenly aware that, while the pain was still throbbing in his abdomen, the pressure was gone. There was nothing to push. He stopped screaming. Tauriel stopped chanting. Fíli’s grip slackened and the room went silent but for the feeble wailing of a newborn child.

All his weakness forgotten, Kíli sat up to look over the table’s edge, and sure enough, there in Óin’s arms, was his child. A squalling mess of blood and fluids and sticky skin, and it-- he-- was beautiful.

“A boy,” Kíli whispered, “a boy.”

“A king,” Fíli said proudly. A smile lit up the blond dwarf’s face to rival the sun. He looked closer. “He’s quite big, though, isn’t he?”

Kíli nodded and half-turned to face his brother. “He should be.” He turned back to gaze at his baby. “He is half-man.”

Tauriel was the only one to not reel in shock. “You mean you…?” Bofur began, pointing vaguely at Kíli. “So who’s…?”

The young dwarf shook his head. “A man in Ered Luin fancied me.” This was hard for him to get out, but in the rush of emotion coursing through the room, to tell it at this time seemed best. “But I detested him. He wanted to bed me, and I had other thoughts. He didn’t much like that.”  Kíli sat back against his brother’s chest. The room was starting to fade. “He took me against my will. And this child-- my child-- is the product of it.”

A heavy silence hung in the home of Bard. The children had long since retreated to their rooms to escape the screaming of poor Kíli, and now were venturing back out again. The girls went to work fetching warm water and clean cloth to clean the baby and Bain started to right all the furniture that the battle with the orcs had knocked over.

“He’s dead,” Fíli growled. Kíli couldn’t see due to his angle, but he knew that tone. Fíli’s face was sure to be contorted with fury, his lips pulled back and his nose wrinkled, his eyes naught but fiery slits. “Kíli, you give me this man’s name and he’s dead.”

But Kíli would say no more. he hadn’t the strength. The faerlim juice seemed to have worn off, and Kíli eyelids grew heavy. Tauriel rushed over to touch the dwarf’s face and found it cold.

“ _Mellon nîn--!_ ” she cried, sounding far away. The lights blurred around her form and became a halo. “ _Mellon nîn!_ Kíli!”

But Kíli heard no more.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Coming back into consciousness was like swimming to the top of a thick, black river. Kíli knew nothing but his hazy vision of the ceiling for longer than he cared to count before eventually his hearing and then his feeling came back to him.

He wished that last one hadn’t, for he was sore all over when he tried to move. Luckily, a delicate hand pressed to his shoulder before he tried to do anything stupid like sit up.

“Lie still,” Tauriel’s soft voice said.

He did as she said for a moment, content to simply watch her watch him. In this time of reflection, Kíli supposed she’d come to help out of sympathy for his plight. She’d known the orcs were hunting them yet, and that the company would be too busy with the new babe to fight back.

“My child,” Kíli suddenly demanded. The she-elf hesitated, but removed her hand and allowed Kíli to rise. He lifted his head out of the bowl of walnuts that had served as his makeshift pillow. His muscles shifted uncomfortably and his stomach felt empty, hollow. His throat was raw and hoarse after screaming much of the night(a quick look outside told him it was indeed still night). The bones in his hips creaked and he near cried out as he tried to move his legs. But every pain, every tear and ache, was forgotten as he saw Óin bring his child to him. The dwarfling was swaddled in a soft red cloth and its face was wiped clean, leaving it pink and soft. The child slept.

“Mind the head, now,” Óin warned, passing the child along to Kíli. The young dwarf made sure to place the boy’s head in his palm and shift so his arms made a cradle.

Fíli and Bofur, who’d been sitting by the fire, now stood up and rushed over to the new parent. They watched in awe as Kíli held his child, tears brimming over his eyes. Not a tear had been shed from him this night before this; he felt he deserved it.

“Frerin,” Kíli said suddenly. Fíli looked up at him with a sad smile.

“Our uncle,” he said. “He fell in the battle to reclaim the mines Moria.”

There was a silent agreement, even in the elf, that it was a well picked name. So it was that Frerin II came into the world as dragonfire was seen across the lake.

 


End file.
